“Wisps,” the old fae responds, but doesn’t elaborate any further.
If he were human, I’d guess he’d be in his seventies? He introduces himself as a Keeper of the Memories, then prattles on about how he’s been tasked with teaching me all about Aedys and the Evermoor family, which I’m apparently a member of. We’ll be starting with the dawn of the first Keepers, about seven thousand years ago.
He’s been talking for five minutes, and I have no idea what he’s been saying. While the rug’s soft, my back aches from holding myself upright, and my thoughts keep circling around my situation; ignoring my forced betrothal, things haven’t been as horrible as I’d feared. The food’s better, my clothes are nicer, the bed’s softer. I have my own space, and everything’s beautiful. There are definitely worse places I could be stuck. And as much as I want to escape my mother and marriage, the reality is, I don’t have anywhere I can go. Not without being caught or killed.
Which is why I need to get Owena on my side—she could help me plan an escape. And if not, she’s gonna be my wife, so we might as well get along.
But all that will have to wait. For now, I’m stuck listening to this geezer’s ramblings.
“Can’t I just read about this?” I ask, cutting him off mid-sentence.
His face contorts as if I’ve insulted his mother. “We do not require books when we have our memories.”
My elbow slides along the cold tabletop as I slump forward, chin in hand. If Reid were here, he’d probably be gathering as much information as possible—as Owena said, knowledge is power. But there has to be a less boring option than listening to this droning for bells on end.
I straighten up. “How did my mother end up as queen?”
The Keeper pauses his pacing to glare at me. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?”
“Uh… no?”
He shakes his head, then folds his hands together like a schoolteacher addressing a small child. “The Evermoor family has ruled Aedys since our earliest memories. Your mother inherited the throne over two hundred years ago, when Arandur the Desecrator killed her father in battle. As I was saying—”
“But why the Evermoors? What gives us the right to rule?”
The Keeper’s arms tense as his hands clench together. “The Land blessed the royal family of each realm with a unique gift, establishing their divine right. For instance, the Duskblooms of Llynos can—”
“I’m more interested in what my family can do,” I say, my pulse quickening. A divine gift soundsreallyuseful.
The Keeper’s jaw twitches, and his eyes flick to the door. “The gift of the Evermoor line is not important to today’s lesson. If you’ll allow me to return to my instruction—”
The door swings open just as I’m about to press him further. Princess Owena stands there, looking ravishing in a long-sleeved, pine-green gown, with her golden curls catching the warm light as they tumble past her shoulders.
I’d be happier to see her if her timing wasn’t so fucking terrible. Relief washes over the Keeper’s face as he sinks into a deep bow. Whatever this Evermoor gift is, my mother must have forbidden him from sharing it with me.
“Your Highness,” he mumbles, his head still dipped down.
“I’ve come to borrow Prince Caeo,” Owena says, her gaze landing on me.
I lean against the table, eyeing her. Is her sudden appearance really a coincidence? There’s no trace of a hidden motive on her face, no tension in her shoulders, but it’s entirely possible she wants me kept in the dark as well. To make me reliant on her instead of my mother.
The Keeper straightens. “Of course, Your Highness.” He hurries from the room, shutting the door behind him.
“Why’d you have to interrupt? I was so close to getting something useful out of him.”
Owena laughs as she picks at a knob on the wall. “No, you weren’t. Your mother would have instructed him not to share anything you could turn to your benefit. If anything, I was saving him from risking her wrath.”
Wonderful. So this was a waste of time after all.
Owena sighs, then folds her hands. “You should have stood when I entered.”
“Huh?”
She stares at me, eyes widening with expectation. This must be the etiquette lesson she was planning. I’m not really in the mood, but Idoneed her to like me. So I get to my feet and give her my most charming smile.
Owena nods. “Now offer your arm so we can go for a walk.”
I begrudgingly oblige, and we end up spending the entire afternoon in the gardens. I learn where to stand in relation to her, when to take her arm, the appropriate number of seconds to maintain eye contact… So many little things that fae care about, at least for their royalty. I can’t imagine the plebs give a rat’s ass about any of this.
